


Before the Dawn Can Come

by StarksInTheNorth, Targaryens of Dragonstone (StarksInTheNorth)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (or at least not in the same way), Bran Stark is Not a Robot, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, King's Landing Doesn't Burn in This One
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/Targaryens%20of%20Dragonstone
Summary: Jon Snow has finally united the forces of man against the Night King, but it may not be enough if they cannot work together.Daenerys Targaryen arrives in the North to avenge her dragon and save her unwelcoming people from the darkness.Sansa Stark only wants to protect her family and her people from those who would do them harm.Arya Stark wonders at her place in a Winterfell ruled by her siblings and a world ruined by Lannisters.Cersei Lannister never meant to keep her promise, and she has debts to pay to family and enemies across the realm.Tyrion Lannister prepares to fight a war where he doesn't know his enemy, or who he can trust.Jaime Lannister returns to a castle where he once destroyed a boy's life, ready to defend it.And Bran Stark means to use his powers to defeat the Night King, once and for all - even if it kills him.A canon-divergent set of drabbles that attempt to show how S8 could have hit all the same beats and still stayed consistent with the characters we grew to know and love.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Euron Greyjoy/Cersei Lannister, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, potential Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark
Comments: 85
Kudos: 83





	1. Winterfell - Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks receive a guest at Winterfell.

The dragon arrives on horse back, her black and red banners snapping smartly in the wind. 

The denizens of Winterfell and the North follow her with wary eyes, . They are tired of outsiders, tired of foreigners who claimed the North was theirs, no matter what reasoning they used. Robert Baratheon claimed the North by right of rebellion, Theon Greyjoy by right of conquest. They are tired, too, of their own leaders, the ones who focused on selfish desires for power and glory and gold. The Boltons claimed the North by right of a King’s command, an order sealed with the blood of Northern sons and daughters.

Sansa Stark straightens her back and stared at this so called queen, taking in every part of her being: the violet of her eyes, the silver of her hair, the complex braids upon her head, the luxurious white fur overcoat that seems more meant for a southern court than a Northern castle. Daenerys Targaryen is as beautiful as they say, but Sansa knows not to trust beautiful things. Beauty lies. It hides cruelty and conniving and protects evil men from innocent, naive girls realizing the truth of their matter. 

And if that beauty doesn’t lie? Well, then it’s ruined by the world around it that seeks to manipulate that beauty, claim it and possess it like so many others have claimed her home. 

But no more. She is Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Eddard and Catelyn’s daughter, the blood of the North. She will not fear beautiful dragons or their rage, will not be blinded by them.

Daenerys dismounts her horse and turns toward Sansa and her Stark siblings. A brown-skinned woman with dark, curly hair descends besides her, and looks ready to speak first. Daenerys waves a gloved hand at her side, and the woman falls back, silent. Sansa meets the queen’s eyes with her own, sweeps her with her gaze once more, before dipping to a curtsy. Following Sansa’s lead, all kneel.

But a tenseness remains in the air, thicker and more dangerous than when Sansa last bowed to a royal overlord in this courtyard. As King Robert Baratheon before her, Daenerys signals for the crowd to rise. Sansa releases a breath, glad to have this part of courtesy over with.

Jon Snow rides in behind his southern queen’s retinue, but he quickly removes his love-struck gaze from her and rushes right past when he sees the two people at Sansa’s side.

Jon embraces Arya first, holding her as if she is glass. But if anyone is made of something stronger, its their younger sister. She notices Arya whispering something to him, and Jon smiles wide as can be. Next, he ruffles Bran’s hair and tells him, awkwardly, “You’ve grown into a man.” 

Bran stares back in that blank-eyed way of his.

“I’m glad you’re back. We have much to discuss.” Then, he smiles, warm and true. “I’ve missed you, Jon.”

Finally, Jon turns to Sansa. He steps into her open arms, wraps his around her, and squeezes tight. Sansa closes her eyes, lets herself feel safe for the timespan of a breath, and then releases him.

There is so much she wants to say - _you gave away our home, you broke my faith in you. i was so worried you would die beyond the wall without ever seeing Arya, or Bran._ \- and so much she wants to ask - _why did you do it?_ _was it for love? what makes you think we can trust the Mad King’s daughter?_ \- but now is not the time for that. 

Jon steps aside and motions to his queen. She walks over then, a shy smile on her lips. “Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. My sister, Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Stark.” She says, and Sansa resists the urge to scoff. 

This was not an invitation on her part; their company comes at Jon’s behest alone. They need the queen, her men, her dragons, but Sansa does not need to _like_ having non-Northerners in her home, strangers as unwelcome as the Lannister soldiers Jon promises will come soon.

“The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed,” Daenerys continues, and Sansa swells with unbidden pride. At least she can agree with the dragon on _this_ small thing, but then - “as are you.”

Sansa purses her lips. That was the wrong thing to say, just another example of a pretty person hiding venom and teeth behind pretty words. But she is a wolf in lady’s garments, and she can say pretty, courteous words too. “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”


	2. Winterfell - Bran I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran gives Dany unsettling news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bran! Is! Not! A! Robot!

As the Lords head to the Great Hall - Jon was insistent on a meeting immediately - Bran asks Jon to help him there, and to bring along the queen. Sansa side-eyes them, and Arya’s face falls into a disappointed, sullen scowl. 

Already, he can tell that Sansa does not trust Daenerys. She has mentioned her concerns enough to him and Arya, after Jon’s messenger arrived declaring that he was coming North with an army - and their new ruler. But something else is off about his sister, a subtle change that happened only after Daenerys spoke. It is more than not just trusting an unknown character, the child of the man who killed their grandfather and uncle and sister of the man who "kidnapped" their aunt. That distrust from Sansa would be enough, but Daenerys behavior, small as it has been, has affected Sansa in a way that Bran does not quite see or understand.

Bran will speak with her later, ask if he can answer any questions or assuage any concerns through his visions, and explain to her the importance of Daenerys and her dragons to winning this war.

And Arya, well . . . Bran knew she loved him, but Jon had always been her favorite brother. She probably wanted the time to speak with him. But there was no time for that, not now.

Jon wheels Bran up a specialized ramp, into the First Keep, and down the long hall towards the Great Hall. His chair's wheels clatter along the stones in a resounding _thump_ , _thump_ , _thump_. The noise used to embarrass Bran, when first he came into the castle. But afterwards, its come to be satisfying and comforting, to know that he doesn't need to rely on someone to carry him like Hodor had. He has agency again, more than just in his visions beneath the weir woods, but in his own sense of movement. He has some freedom, and that is enough to bring him joy.

Bran indicates a room to the side, where lords once waited to be called before their lord, and Jon positions him into the entryway, awkwardly struggling to get the chair through the ancient doorway. There is not much space with the chair, but somehow the four of them manage to squeeze into the dark chamber. Daenerys takes a torch from the hall, lifting it to light the lantern hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the space.

Daenerys’ lady closes the door behind them as the queen turns to Bran. Her disposition is almost hopeful, maybe thinking he will give her a warmer welcome than Sansa has.

“Your Grace, it brings me no pleasure to share this news, but I must.” Her brow furrows. He sighs, not wanting to upset her so but having no choice. “The Night King has your dragon.” 

“Viserion?”

“He's one of them now. A wight-dragon, half ice, half death. The Wall has fallen, the dead march south. And he is at the head of that army.”

Her lady touches Daenerys’ arm in support. Bran notes the tumult of emotions dancing through the queen's expression - sadness at the dragon's death, anger that her enemy has it, and concern that there is such a great weapon in Night King's army. While she processes all these thoughts, Jon looks at Bran, his shock writ clear on his face. “How do you know this? Why wouldn’t Sansa send a messenger to tell us?”

“It’s hard to explain. I have powers - greensight, a gift from the old gods. It helps me see things: the past, the present, the future.” Bran looks deep at Jon, wanting to tell him the truth of his parentage but not in the present company, not when there are more vital things for Jon’s attention. “I’ve told Sansa, but I only saw this a few days ago. She decided to use our ravens summoning the people to Winterfell, since telling you would only delay your arrival with the live dragons and soldiers.”

Jon nods, accepting. He half-turns to Daenerys, but with a glance at Bran, decides against him. Bran almost laughs. He knows about Jon’s affair with the queen, but Jon doesn’t know that. He might wonder, though, what else Bran knows . . . that’s a problem for later.

Daenerys comports herself with a deep breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them, her face has regained a steely-calm that betrays no emotion or affect from the news. For a moment, she reminds Bran of his father, resigning himself to taking the head of a deserter of the Night's Watch all those years ago. Lord Eddard Stark did not seek to kill a man when he did not need to, but he also understood his duty and responsibility for the King's Justice. Daenerys looks ready to do the same, follow through with her obligations and mourn the dragon's life - her child's life, as she calls the beasts - when she has nothing else to hold her responsible.

“Thank you, Lord Bran. I appreciate you giving me this news where I can collect myself. Now, I believe we have a battlement of angry lords to attend to.”


	3. Winterfell - Dany I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany processes news while confronting the politics of claiming a people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, you’ll start to see my first major changes. Firstly, the Essosi followers of Dany are in the war council. It didn’t make sense for them to skip something so important. Second, I had Dany say something substantive and dealt with some of the fall out and how I think she'd respond to Sansa's snipes about feeding dragons and armies.

Dany has barely heard the words spoken around her, as the lords of the Vale and North explain their preparations so far to the men Dany has brought with her. Even as she processes the news Lord Bran provided just before her entry, she still notices who the Westerosi speak to: their own. They are fine sharing details with their once-enemies, lords from the Reach and Dorne and even a few the Westerlands, roused in support of Tyrion. 

Even the Free Folk from Beyond the Wall are embraced by the Westerosi, who for so long called them wildling enemies. But no more. They have other people to hate instead.

They eye her Dothraki _kos_ and Unsullied captains warily, when they look at them at all. Missandei must serve as translator for the chattering lords, as so few of Dany’s Essosi followers speak the Common Tongue. These are _all_ her people, foreigners and immigrants and citizens. She will make them get along, somehow. When the wars are won and rebellions quelled, she means to let her people settle here. At least those who wish it.

The plains of the Reach and the moors of the North may be a place the Dothraki can happily roam, riding horses in the wind and staring at the sky. The Unsullied can find work - paid work - as household guards, or learn other skills that they choose for themselves. Of course, she will have to oversee them all and make it clear that raiding castles and villages is not allowed and will be met by fire, but that is for a later time.

She has one less dragon to bring that fire, though. Her lovely Viserion, cream and gold and beautiful, fiesty and fiery and everything a dragon should be - dead.

Not just dead, though.

 _Ice_.

“As soon as we heard about the Wall falling, I called all our banners to retreat to Winterfell, and invited the Night’s Watch to do the same.” Lady Sansa is saying, leading the meeting as if she was born to do so. When she started speaking, all her lords and commanders fell silent. Even Dany’s _kos_ and captains did. “Lord Umber, when can we expect your people to arrive?”

Dany turns away from the hearth fire as a young boy, no more than twelve, stands up from the side of the room and walks forward. 

“My people are heading to Winterfell, but most travel by foot.” Lord Umber looks nervously at the head table. He has been thrust into this leadership too soon, but seems to have good advisors to assist him. He looks over his shoulder, and one of those advisors nods at him. He continues, “We need more horses and wagons, if it please my lady.” 

Glancing at Jon, he says, “and my lord,” and then glances at Dany, the firelight dancing in her eyes, and gulps loudly. “And my queen. Sorry.”  
  
Even as Jon smiles awkwardly, Dany flinches without meaning too.

Of course this gathering of leadership is awkward. Who to turn to, when you are a child yet and unsure how to play the game of politics? The trueborn Lady of Winterfell, daughter of the last Lord and sister to two Kings? Or the once-king, once-lord commander, now Warden of the North? Or your supposed Queen, who hasn’t spoken a word in this entire meeting, instead staring glumly into the flames, so like the ones her own father used to kill former nobles of this keep?

Dany returns to her chair between Jon and Tyrion, settling into it with an exhausted, vacant expression on her face. 

Sansa leans forward and responds to the request. “You will have as many wagons as we can spare. Hurry back and meet the people of Last Hearth on the kingsroad so you may bring them here.”

As young Umber bows, Dany raises a hand and speaks in quick Dothraki. “ _Rakharo, take the ten strongest riders of your ko to protect this lord and his people. Help bring them safely to us_.”

At first, the Northerners look concerned at the harsh words she says that they do not understand. But as Missandei translates, a calm settles over their faces.

“Thank you, my queen.” Lord Umber bows again and exits the hall with his advisors and Rakharo following behind him. 

“Are there any other families that need help bringing their people here?” Jon asks, scanning the room. “There's no sense in manning the castles anymore, no matter what ancestral ties you may have. We make our stand here. Anyone left behind will surely be killed and their corpse turned against humanity.”

The lords and ladies and captains all anxiously chatter amongst themselves. The maester of Winterfell, Wolkan, steps forward. “We have not received any word of House Glover’s arrival plans.”

“Send a raven or rider to them at once and see what assistance is needed.” Jon commands.

“At once, Your Grace.” Maester Wolkan bows and exits, without realizing the mistake of his words. Dany tries not to be exasperated - they have, after all, had to switch from the ways they were used to - but its hard to suppress these emotions when his term of address is paired with the blank and angry stares that welcomed her in the winter town.

"Your Grace." A young girl stands then, her face a fierce glare directed towards Jon. She walks forward so she is standing in the center of the hall, her glare somehow intensifying even though its already taken up so many of the muscles in her face. “But you’re not. Are you? You left Winterfell a king and came back a- I’m not sure what you are now.”

The murmurs of the lords come back again as she continues, “A lord? Nothing at all?”  
  
“It's not important.” He says, but his answer does not please anyone.  
  
"Not important? We named you _King in the North_.” 

At Dany’s side, Jon tenses more than she does, and turns to look at Lady Sansa when a lord shouts, “King of the North!” Sansa levels a calm, collected gaze back at him, as if silently saying, _What did you expect from us?_

Dany is unsurprised to find so many dissenters here, in this land wrecked by war. She is surprised, however, to hear it spoken directly in front of her.

“You did, my lady. It was the honor of my life. I’ll always be grateful for your faith.” Jon rises to address his people, and the others watching, as the young lady sits. “But when I left Winterfell, I told you we need allies or we will die. I have brought those allies home to fight alongside us.” He gazes at Dany and smiles, and she feels reassured by his faith in her. But even as he speaks, she does not miss Lady Sansa’s hash stare towards her, and the matching stares of the Westerosi lords who swore to Jon Snow, not Daenerys Targaryen. “I had a choice, keep my crown or protect the North. I chose the North.”

As the people murmur, yet again, Tyrion moves to stand. Dany expects him to give one of his pretty speeches, but she does not expect a Lannister voice to placate a room of nobles not placated by their own lord’s pretty speech. Instead, she rises from her seat to address these people she would make hers in truth and not just in name.

“I am grateful for the fealty of the Starks. In his pledge, Jon has vowed to honor the promises Torrhen Stark made to my ancestor, the first Aegon. And I have vowed to honor the promises of the Conqueror to all his people. To protect them from all threats to Westeros, including from Beyond the Wall.” Dany walks out in front of the table, looking around the great hall and making eye contact with all the lords, ladies, and advisors she does not yet know. “I have lost a dragon to this Great War already. Viserion, who rose from the flames of my husband’s funeral pyre. I am upset at this loss, and that he has been turned against not just me, but all my people.”

She’s upset as well that Jon has so misrepresented his choice. He acts as if she had demanded his fealty in return for protecting him. While this was once true, after losing Viserion and seeing the true threat, she had promised to help him defeat the White Walkers. She would have kept that promise, even if he did not offer to bend the knee to her after it was made.

“Together, we will defeat the Night King. And then, we will rid this land of Cersei Lannister, who assisted in killing Lord Eddard and destroying the Great Sept of Baelor.” She notices the Vale lords nod at this, and smiles a little. She had forgotten they were mostly followers of the Seven, and would grievously despise the destruction of their holy place.

“And I promised, too, that I will honor the positions given to the Starks in times of old. Sansa Stark is Lady of Winterfell and the North, and her line shall be in perpetuity. Just as Jon Snow’s line will always hold the title of Warden of the North, so long as they are willing to defend it.”

She nods at Jon and returns to her seat. Hopefully, these choices will be enough to placate them until this war is done. Tyrion stands and speaks, not seeing his queen’s raised eyebrows of concern.

“If anyone survives the war to come, we'll have Jon Snow to thank. He will be an ideal protector of this kingdom.” Tyrion turns to Jon and nods in acknowledgement. “Jon Snow risked his life to show us the threat is real. Thanks to his courage, we have brought with us the greatest army the world has ever seen. We have brought two full-grown dragons. And soon, the Lannister army will ride north to join our cause.”

Someone yells out curses, but Tyrion uses his hands to quiet them. “I know, I know, our people haven't been friends in the past. But we must fight together now or die.”

“And with that warning in mind, we should return to our preparations. My lords, my ladies, thank you.” Dany says, rising from her seat. As the meeting adjourns and the visitors begin to leave, Lady Sansa turns to Dany with an angry frown.  
  
“May I ask, how are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen?” At first, it seems like a reasonable question, until she launches into a series of biting remarks to lay out all their problems at Dany’s feet. “I ensured our stores would last through winter, I didn't account for Dothraki or Unsullied. Our supplies won’t last nearly as long since we’ve doubled the population of the castle, with two full-grown dragons besides.”

She tilts her head, another snide remark waiting on her lips. “What do dragons eat, anyway?”

Dany cannot stop herself from snapping, “Whatever they want.”

But then she shrugs and settles. “The dragons will hunt from the countryside and find whatever wild creatures roam beyond these walls. As for my people . . . we brought some of the stock of the Reach and our plunder from the Westerlands. Northern winters can be long and harsh, or so I hear, but I’m sure you prepared for that, Lady Stark.” Dany indicates to Missandei. “But if you’d like someone to go over your numbers . . . “

Sansa turns bright red. Dany has heard from Jon what the lady’s strengths are, and her weaknesses, including sums and figures. Sansa blusteringly agrees to go over the books with Missandei, putting to rest the idea that she can snidely quip without her words being taken seriously by her new queen.


	4. Winterfell - Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon speaks with Arya after years of separation and wonders at how much has changed between them.

“Do you have any time for me?”

Jon turns to see Arya standing in the middle of the hall, her face calm and crooked to the side but eyes brimming with angry tears. After Dany dismissed them from their meeting, Lords swarmed the head table with demanding questions and harsh accusations. He’s ashamed to realize he made to follow Sansa and Dany out the hall’s back door and not to find his littlest sister, the one he was always closest to in the summer of their childhood.

Jon loves Sansa, he always has, and was overjoyed to reunite with her at Castle Black, safe and alive. But a vicious, ungrateful part of his mind had always guiltily wished she had been Arya. 

There is a closeness now between him and Sansa that wasn’t there before, the kind of bond that can only be forged in war and desolation. Looking at Arya now, he barely knows her. 

She’s so much taller than she once was, but still shorter than him and Sansa. Instead of the dresses she used to ruin while romping through the godswood, she wears smart leathers and a tidy cloak to match the ones Sansa made for him and her on the war trail. As Jon’s taking her in, all these changes, Arya brushes back her cloak to set a hand on her hip and -

“You still have it!” He scoffs in disbelief. Strapped at her belt is Needle, the sword he commissioned from Mikken for her all those years ago. Arya smiles and nods, the anger finally disappearing from her eyes.

Jon sweeps her up into another embrace, holds it tighter and longer and fiercer than he did in the courtyard before all those people. When he pulls back, she almost like the raggedy girl he once knew. “You used to be taller.”

“Aye, and you used to not walk so silently.” He hadn’t even noticed her following them out the back. “How did you sneak up on me? Sansa said in her letter you managed to sneak past the castle guards when you first arrived.”

Arya’s face falls when he mentions Sansa. “What else did she say?”

“That you nearly beat Brienne in a fight. That you were safe, healthy, alive, with all your limbs in tact.” Jon ruffles her hair, mussing up the careful braids that pull it back from her face. Northern braids, like Sansa’s. _Did she help with them, or did Arya do that herself?_ “Why didn’t you speak up in there? I could’ve used your help with Sansa.”

"I let Sansa do the politicking. I'm better at training the children and crofters than handling grumpy Lords. I suggested chopping all their heads off after they complained about you for a full afternoon and suggested making Sansa queen. She thoroughly lectured me about why that's not allowed." Her voice steady, Arya asks, “She doesn’t like your dragon queen, does she?”

Jon glances around to make sure no one is listening in on this conversation, but the hall is deserted now. Likely Sansa is playing the hostess and escorting Dany to her chambers inside of Winterfell. He’ll find Dany later, but for now he begins heading to the rooms he claimed for himself once they retook the castle. Arya follows after with confident strides.

“Sansa thinks she’s smarter than everyone. Daenerys is a good leader, a good queen with a gentle heart. Sansa will realize that, if she stops trying to bait the queen into filleting her for the dragon's next meal.” Jon replies, the old barb rolling off his tongue with a familiarity he hasn’t felt in years. They used to joke that she thought she was better, but Jon knows that’s not the case. Else she wouldn’t have said he should take the Lord’s Chamber. But she has shown time and time again that she thinks she knows best about everything, or at least better than everyone except - 

“Where’s Littlefinger? Shouldn't he have been at the meeting?”

“I killed him.”

Jon stops dead in his tracks, surprised by how casually Arya says this. “What?”

“I slit his throat in the great hall.” Arya shrugs and turns back to their other topic as if killing a lord paramount and close ally is nothing. “Sansa’s the smartest person I've ever met.”

“Now _you’re_ defending her? You?” He chuckles morbidly and starts walking again. “And you can’t escape that question so easily. If Littlefinger is dead at our hands, why are the Valemen still here?”

“He had a fair trial. Sansa, Bran, and I all heard his last words. He confessed to killing Aunt Lysa, orchestrating Father’s death, even knowing what Ramsey Bolton would do to Sansa.” Arya says, following Jon into his solar. The room is much the same as he left it, although his trunk has been returned and a fire already burns in the hearth. “Everything Sansa has done since she became Lady of Winterfell was meant to protect our family and our people. She's the one who realized he was playing us off each other, manipulating us into fighting and arguing instead of relying on our pack. She got Bran to use his powers to confirm her suspicions and then, of all things, apologized to me for falling for it all. I’m defending _family_ , and so is she.”

His mind reels as he takes in all this new information and the questions they bring, from Sansa's maneuvers to Bran's "powers." Part of him is glad that Petyr Baelish is no longer a problem to balance on their mountain of issues, that Dany will never have to deal with all the wheedling and dealing and manipulation of the perverted lord who leered at his sister. But he’s also concerned that Sansa didn’t feel the need to mention this to him with any letter or the riders she sent to meet them in White Harbor, and by the blank, callous way Arya brought it up. “I’m her family too.”

Arya hugs Jon again. “Don’t forget that.”

After she pulls away, she unsheathes the weapons at her belt and sets them on the small table by the fire. There’s Needle and a dagger that shimmers like -

“Valyrian steel?” He says aghast. “Where’d you get _that_?”

“Littlefinger gave it to Bran. Bran gave it to me.” She settles in the chair before the fire, the one that’s been Sansa’s every night they’ve shared strategizing and planning for the wars to come and the rebuilding of their home.

Jon unsheathes Longclaw and settles in his own usual chair, offering the sword to Arya. “So, have you ever actually used your blades, besides as tools of execution?”

“Once or twice.” She inspects Longclaw, admiring its shine and the white wolf on the pommel. “This is a nice blade.”

“Jealous?”

She scoffs and sets Longclaw besides Needle and her dagger. “It’s too heavy for me.” She pauses. “Father found out about Needle. He hired a master for me. Syrio Forrel of Braavos. He taught me their style of fighting - water dancing - and it saved my life.

“Thank you, Jon. I wouldn’t have made it here without Needle. I think I would’ve forgotten Sansa’s singing and Bran’s laugh and your smile, if I didn’t have it.”

There’s some deeper meaning, something darker, behind her expressed gratitude, but Jon smiles all the same. He’s glad to have his sister back. She may have changed after all these years, but she’ll always be his Arya. This is prove all the more true when she gnaws at her lip, a habit she’s never seemed to break. 

“How did you survive a knife through the heart?”

“I didn’t.” Jon swallows. He hasn’t even really told Sansa all the details. The only ones who know the whole of the black magic are Davos, Melisandre, and the men of Castle Black. “A red witch brought me back. I still don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but at least I got to see everyone left alive who I love once more.”

He thinks of all those things Arya said she almost forgot, the living and the dead that made up his childhood and his home. Playing at swords with Robb and Theon; teaching Rickon and Bran to use a bow; riding horses through the wolfwood with his father; Sansa singing to Lady while she brushed her fur; Arya waiting to ambush him outside the keep with a mountain of snowballs; even Lady Stark’s stern frown when she saw him at their table.

He thinks of Dany, too. If he didn’t die, he never would have worked to take back their home with Sansa. He may never have gone south to meet with Queen Daenerys and may have sent an emissary in his stead as Lord Commander. He smiles, thinking of her gentle touch and soft gaze and all the questions she asked about Northern lords and Northern custom on their journey to White Harbor. He’s glad he lived to meet her, too.

There’s a knock on his door, and Jon bolts up. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Before he can answer, it swings open and Ghost comes bounding in and nearly knocks Jon over. Behind him, Sansa pushes Bran’s wheeled chair into their midsts. “Good, you found Arya. I was wondering where she was lurking. Do you mind if we join?”

“Of course,” Jon says. “We were just reminiscing.”

Sansa positions Bran near the fire and giddily produces a clay jug capped with wax. She hands it to Arya before cramming herself into the chair with their lithe little sister. “This is the last of the beer we brought with us from Castle Black. I thought our siblings might enjoy a taste of the delicacies you’ve been enjoying for the last years.”

Jon tries not to laugh, even though he’s imagining Sansa’s reaction to trying the so-called “delicacy.” And though he had wanted to meet with Dany, he decides that can wait until the morning. For tonight, though, he’s happy to exchange stories and laugh with his siblings, trying not to remember too much how much larger their whole family used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some major changes:
> 
> \- the flow of the conversation and some of the topics they hit on  
> \- bringing up Littlefinger since it makes no sense why he's never mentioned in S8?  
> \- Arya mentioning WHY she thinks Sansa's the smartest person she ever met and closing up the final questions left by Starkbowl last season  
> \- just some fun, fluffy Stark bonding. The show NEVER gave us this, and it made me so mad. There was enough time for the CGI dragon ride and an entire episode with King's Landing burning, but no minutes or budget to film the Stark kids giggling and remembering that this is their family? 
> 
> You can hit me up on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) for more ASOIAF theorizing and GOT grumbling.


	5. Winterfell - Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa discusses the dragon queen with her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place between Dany I and Jon I.

“How are these rooms so warm, Lady Stark?” Daenerys’ lady and translator, Missandei, asks with wonder in her eyes. A low fire burns in the solar hearth, set by the servants once they saw signs of the incoming armies and dragons, but it isn’t enough to fill the entire solar and bedroom with heat as intense as what they feel.

“There are water pipes running through the walls from the hot springs beneath the castle. You may have seen some of the steaming pools in the courtyard we crossed to get here.” Sansa smiles with pride and straightens as much as she can, which isn’t much. “These were my mother’s rooms, the warmest in Winterfell. I thought you might prefer them, since you’re not used to the North.”

“Thank you for the consideration.” Daenerys says, her first words since they left the great hall. Sansa curses herself for letting her feelings come out and her guard drop.

But she is so weary of holding this facade in front of everyone. Foreign queens and Northern Lords, they all want the same thing from her. Her obedience, her title, her power. She hadn’t mentioned it to Jon, but there have been thirteen marriage proposals directed at her in the last few days as more and more lords have arrived in Winterfell with their families in tow, including their eligible sons.

“Meals will be served in the courtyard for everyone, but I can have them delivered here if you’d prefer. I’ve taken the liberty to order a bath drawn for you as well.” She smiles tersely at the dragon queen. “Is there anything else I can do for you, your grace?”

“Not now, Lady Stark. Thank you for all your hospitality.”

Sansa dips into a short curtsy and exits without another word. She sighs in relief when the hall is empty and makes for her solar-turned-office, her mind again reviewing the list of the thousand tasks she must complete before going to bed tonight.

But as Sansa is crossing the courtyard, a young girl stops her and tells her Bran was looking for her. She turns the other way from the tower, passing into the quiet tranquility of the godswood.

The snow falls quieter here, and she feels herself at peace in away no other part of the castle ever brings her. She glances at the black pool, still shining bright despite the harsh, cold winds biting against Sansa’s reddened cheeks. 

Her brother sits in his chair beneath the red-leafed heartree, hand touching its angry face and his own eyes distant. Sansa kneels in the snow to pray until Bran comes back into himself. 

Eventually, his eyes snap open and he startles. “Sansa!”

“ _You_ asked for _me_. I knew I’d find you here.” She rises. Sansa absentmindedly brushes Bran’s hair away from his face to better see the man he is becoming. As always, she wonders what her mother would do, if Lady Catelyn lived to see him gain this strange foresight and sense of prophecy. She cups his face and presses a gentle kiss on his forehead before settling onto the bench besides him. “So why did you go looking for me? I should be working on the preparations with Lord Royce, you know. There’s bread to be baked and still more shelters to build and smallfolk to organize within the walls.”

Bran nods solemnly. “Yes, but I wanted to speak with you privately. About our queen.”

"Jon’s queen, you mean.” Sansa glances back at the black pool, watching the falling snowflakes cascade and melt upon its hot surface. “What about her?”

“What do you think of her?”

“She is …” Sansa sighs again, trying to put her thoughts to words. She speaks frankly with Bran, who will certainly know if she is lying. “She is not what I expected. I thought she would land on the dragon, to show her dominance over us, her subjects. Not ride through our gate with our besotted Jon besides her.”

“That’s one word for his feelings.”

Sansa spins towards him. “What did you see, Bran?” 

She almost doesn’t want to know what’s gone on between Jon and the dragon. She doesn’t approve of any closeness, because any of that draws him away from their family. Their pack is all that should matter.

“I don’t know if he loves her. Just that they are … close.”

Sansa’s lips purse trying to understand what Bran means. He continues, “What else?”

“She reminds me of Joffrey, in truth. And Cersei, and that Hardyng boy that proposed to me within an hour of his arrival. He thought he could marry me before I realized he’s aflirt and philanderer with an empty soul. They’re all beautiful people with ashes for souls who only speak empty words, and she’s more beautiful then all of them.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Her greeting to me was all empty words.” Sansa’s expression sours. “Calling me beautiful, like every other lord that’s come to Winterfell more to seek my hand than protect their people from the Others. From all we’ve heard, I expected more from her than the words of a man.”

“She hasn’t ever had a noble friend.” Bran admits, finally revealing what he’s seen. “You’re the first woman she’s ever interacted with who didn’t start as a servant or slave. Who was destined to be a queen before she came. Even the ladies she met in Meereen were people she sought to conquer, not ally with. She’s likely just as scared of us as we are of her dragons.” 

Sansa can’t help but laugh. “I don’t believe you. Did you hear the fire in her voice during the council?”

He nods. “Yes, and I know more than just her words.

“I had disconcerting dream last night. I came here to see if it was real or just my mind playing tricks.” 

“What did you see?”

“I saw everything of Daenerys Targaryen. Her past, her present, her future. Her mother dying at her birth. The first time her brother touched her like a lover when she did not want it. The husband who hurt her only a little less than Ramsey hurt you. I saw a trail of slave children murdered as a warning against her, and the parents of those children celebrating as she gave them freedom.”

Bran leans forward and takes Sansa’s hand. “There’s goodness in her heart, its true, but there is also darkness and only a little light burning against it. I don’t know what that means.

“I saw dragons. They were dancing in my dream. And everywhere the dragons danced the people died. It did not matter who they were or how they screamed. All the people, small and great - they all died. She could be a good queen or a bad one. The future is not set enough to know.”

“Jon is too worried about the Night Queen to worry about the Dragon Queen.” Sansa gasps and squeezes his hand. “What can we do?”

“I don’t know what. I don’t know if we _should_ do anything.” Bran settles back in his chair. “All we can do now is enjoy the time we have with our family. There is a great war to fight first before the next one and even I do not know who, if anyone, will survive it.”

She presses a gentle hand against the tree and sends up one last prayer, for all their safety and the strength to do what needs to be done. The strength to understand it, too. She must consider these dire warnings, these concerns of her brother and the future he sees or may not. _Will it come to past? I cannot let our family die in more fire._

Sansa positions herself behind Bran and begins to push his chair out of the godswood. She struggles against the snow that has fallen on the ground in the time he has been out here, but somehow manages to get him through. She has been training with the Northern children and women, with special lessons from Arya. She has less time to handle it as she oversees the other preparation, but Sansa still has more strength then once she did.

"Sansa, one more thing." Bran says as they near the castle proper, his voice grave. "But you cannot tell anyone.”

She stops in the gateway, shivers running up her back at the intensity in his eyes and the fierce, determined set of his jaw. She prods him on, voice soft as falling snow. “Yes?”

“I saw _fire_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some more changes:  
> \- giving Sansa a legitimate sense of foreboding about Dany and the Dragons through Bran's strange warnings and visions (note: this is NOT ABOUT DANY BURNING INNOCENT PEOPLE)  
> \- 
> 
> Let me know what you think and come fan with me about GOT, ASOIAF, Jonsa, Jonerys, and more on [tumblr](http://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/).


	6. Winterfell - Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion reunites with his wife.

Another delivery of dragon glass has arrived from Dragonstone, along with the remaining Unsullied, following only a day behind Daenerys’ party. A few hundred men remain behind to defend the castle and island, but for the most part Daenerys has sent her entire army here. 

Tyrion Lannister stands on the covered bridge between two towers, observing the entry of the people and wagons in the courtyard below. He had advised their queen to leave more men in the South, but she insisted that the only fight worth having now was the one with the dead, and that all her forces were needed to stop the onslaught.

Below, a Northern man knocks a bit of dragonglass out of a wagon. A young man with dark hair catches it before it hits the ground. “Hey, careful, lads. We need every last bit of this.”

“Sorry about that.”   
  
The young man, Gendry Waters, climbs into the back of one of the wagons and begins handing the rest of it to the blacksmiths behind him. “Are these the last of the wagons?”

“Yes.” One of the Unsullied captains responds. “My lord.”

Gendry noticeably tenses, and so does Tyrion. Gendry is the spitting image of Robert Baratheon when he was younger. He could make a claim for the throne, if he wanted to rally the support. Instead, he ignores the comment and goes back to his duties. “All right, let's get it all to the forges.”

Glancing across the way, he could see Lord Yohn Royce standing at Sansa’s side. Together they speak quietly and watch the proceedings down below. _My little wife._ He thought morosely. 

Tyrion walked along the way towards them. The Northern guard standing at attention gave him a seething, dark look. He wondered if it was because the man had no love of Lannisters, or no love of the dragon queen’s supporters?

“My lord. My lady.” Tyrion bowed his head by way of greeting. Lord Royce glanced at Sansa before leaving. 

“My lady. I’ll see about moving the villagers from Torrhen’s Square to the dormitory along the godswood wall.” Lord Royce nods at them again before taking his leave.

“The Lady of Winterfell.” Tyrion says, emphasizing the phrase with extra dramatics. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“So does Hand of the Queen. Congratulations.” Sansa responds. “Depending on the queen, I suppose.”

“Daenerys is a much better ruler than any I’ve yet had the chance to serve. Even Tommen, with his youth and joy.” Tyrion sighs. He had not expected to argue with her in this reunion. “We’ve both come far since we parted. Last time we spoke was at Joffrey's wedding. Miserable affair.”

“It had its moments.” She gives him a small smile. “Apologies for leaving like that.”

“Yes, it was a bit hard to explain why my wife fled moments after the king's murder.” Tyrion says, trying not to sound too bitter.

“We both survived.”

“Many underestimated you. Most of them are dead now.” He looks at her, head tilted. He finally gets to ask a question that’s been haunting him for years. “So, are you the one who killed my nephew?”

Sansa’s face freezes and her smile falls. Tyrion looks shocked; he hadn’t expected her to truly be involved. “I hadn’t thought - ”

“I only found out after. Lady Tyrell got the poison into the wedding in my necklace.” Sansa sighs. 

“From what I’ve heard, you’re becoming quite the killer, my lady.” Tyrion raises his eyebrows at her. This development he never expected. 

“In a way, I was involved. But not in the same way of the other men I’ve ended. But even then, I did what I had to to survive. I wouldn’t be here without what I’ve done and who I trusted or mistrusted and the enemies I made along the way.”

“You may not like to hear this, but you may find you have more in common with Queen Daenerys than you think.” Tyrion smiles wryly, thinking of a quite similar speech he’s heard from the queen not too long ago. “I'm sure you weren't thrilled to hear the Lannister army's marching north. You have every right to be fearful of my sister. No one fears her more than I do. But I promise, you'll be safe-”

Sansa’s voice is cold. “Cersei told you her army was coming north to fight for you?”

“She did.”

“And _you_ believed her?”

“She has something to live for now.” Tyrion says, thinking of the babe in Cersei’s womb. “I believe she wants to survive.”

“I can understand Jon believing her and even your queen, but you?” Sansa laughs, although the sound is far from joyful. “I used to think you were the cleverest man alive.”

She turns and leaves him standing on the balcony, alone to watch the courtyard. The wagons are almost unloaded, but Bran Stark remains and stares coldly at him from the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some more changes:  
> \- actually mentioning, in dialogue, what Sansa and Royce are doing because there is a lot to the war effort besides training and digging holes but you actually have to show it.
> 
> \- Tyrion (sort of) defending his queen to Sansa’s snide remarks!
> 
> \- Tyrion finding out who committed the crime he was accused of in the first place!
> 
> \- 
> 
> Let me know what you think and come fan with me about GOT, ASOIAF, Jonsa, Jonerys, and more on [tumblr](http://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/).


	7. Winterfell - Cersei I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei gets her army (and her elephants).

"Your Grace, I'm afraid I bring terrible news. The dead have broken through the Wall.” 

Cersei stares out at the ironborn fleet sailing up the Blackwater Rush. The ships carry her army, twenty thousand sellswords from the Golden Company. She detests sellswords and all they represent, but they are beginning to show their usefulness. Her lips curl, thinking of the sellsword she may send to kill her traitor brothers. “Good.”  
  
She turns and stalks into the Red Keep, her black gown swishing behind her and the Mountain falling into place. Qyburn follows her silent as a mouse as they stalk into the great hall and she ascends the Iron Throne.

Cersei’s fingers curl triumphantly around the edges of the throne. This is where she is meant to be, nevermind the pricks of blood against her skin whenever she has let it be exposed enough to touch the iron. She is meant to rule Westeros, and rule she will. _All_ of Westeros.

She raises a hand to summon her guests and a servant scuttles out to fetch them.

Euron Greyjoy swaggers in, almost a drunken stumble. He is followed by Harry Strickland, commander of the Golden Company, walking in perfect formation with a lieutenant at either shoulder. With his tense jaw and golden armor, he reminds her of Jaime. Cersei tightens her hands and the throne digs into her.  
  
”Your grace.” The three new men all sweep into deep bows as Euron laughs in that way of his.

”You may rise.” Cersei says dryly, already bored of these formalities. “Tell me of the twenty-thousand men you’ve brought me, Captain Strickland.”  
  
"We have two thousand horsemen, eighteen thousand foot soldiers, including spearmen, lancers, and archers, as well as ten elephants, as you requested, your grace.”

"Are your elephants afraid of fire? Our enemy has dragons."

Strickland shakes his head. "No, they aren't. We train them not to be. Though the dragons died out a hundred years ago, our company was formed to fight Targaryens and there was always a chance they would use fire against us."

"Good." Cersei had forgotten that bit of history. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

Strickland hesitates and shoots a look at Euron. “A few men died in transit, your grace, including one of the elephant riders. However, his apprentice should be able to ride for him.”  
  
Euron shrugs and sets a hand on the pommel of his sword. "They cheated at dice. Or maybe I cheated. Someone cheated. They weren't good fighters. You won't miss them.”

Cersei raises her eyebrows at him before turning back to Strickland. “You and your men are most welcome here in King's Landing, Captain Strickland. Please let my Hand, Qyburn, know if there is anything that you require.”  
  
“We look forward to fighting for your cause, Your Grace.” Strickland and his men flourish one final bow before exiting the hall, Qyburn following after to discuss their arrangements for their stay in King’s Landing. 

As they leave, Euron furnishes Cersei with heavy bedroom eyes and his wildest smile. “Am I most welcome here?”  
  
"You are a true friend of the crown and an honored guest.” Her lips form a tight, thin smile. She does not trust this man, but she needs him. Although that need is less so, now that he has brought her Strickland and his company.  
  
"Good.” Euron nods and casually approaches the throne. “As a true friend and an honored guest I was hoping we could talk in _private_.”

The Mountain moves to loom before Lord Greyjoy, his sword drawn in an instant. Euron backs up, that smile never leaving his face, and leans around the mountain before him.  
  
“After the war. That was our agreement.” Cersei says. 

"Wars sometimes last years.”

Her skin crawls like spiders bursting from their egg, but something deep inside her warms a little, too, at the boldness in his tone. No man has dared to speak to her as if she were powerful. Even Jaime always saw her more as goddess than as ruler. But Euron cares none for her beauty, only for her crown. And that makes her feel _good_.  
  
“You want a whore, buy one. You want a queen, earn her.” She rises from her throne and descends the dais. As Cersei turns to exit from the great hall, Euron follows after.   
  
“How does one ear an queen, _your grace_?” She stops and turns to face him. Euron brazenly continues, “I've given you justice, an army, and my Iron Fleet, yet you gives me no sign of affection. My heart is nearly broken.”

“You're insolent.” _and I love it_. She thinks, something she would never voice aloud. “I've executed men for less.”

“They were lesser men.” Euron grins, almost true. “Not worthy of a queen.”

 _Jaime may not be worthy of a queen, but neither are you. He’s the one I want, but he chose the Dragon Bitch over me_. Cersei curls her fingers into a fist at her side. “I will never love you, Greyjoy. But perhaps I’ll choose to fuck you. Come.”

Euron follows after and startles her by grabbing his queen’s hand. She takes him to her chambers, the Mountain standing just beyond her door. Cersei sweeps into a chair besides her balcony and stares, waiting.

Without saying anything, Euron pours them each a glass of red wine. Before Cersei can finish hers, he downs his and smashes the glass against her wall. The shards sparkle prettily as they scatter, but Cersei is not amused by the mess. As she takes another sip, Euron steps towards her. 

“Tell me how you’d please your queen more then these lesser men.” She says, a smirks on her lips as she drinks more wine. 

Euron does not answer with words. Instead, he kneels in the shards of glass and boldly pushes up Cersei’s skirts and uses his fingers and tongue to show her _just_ how much he can truly please her.

When they are done and Euron has spent himself inside her, he rolls over and in moments is softly snoring. Cersei rises from the bed, pulls on a dressing robe, and puts another glass of wine. 

She stalks over to her balcony and stands over the city, watching the smoke still rising from where the Sept of Baelor once stood. She thinks to the last time someone gave her pleasure and the faint memory of Jaime’s touch against her skin. She can barely remember the feeling, barely remember him. It’s been too long since they were together and _happy_ , not just mourning or scheming or fucking to feel again.

Eventually, she hears rustling from her bed. ”So how do I compare, to the lesser men you’ve had?”

”My lord, you insult me.” Cersei whirls to glare at him. She has to force herself to hide her surprise with the naked man staring at her. Euron Greyjoy has no shame and makes no attempt to hide his manhood from her hungry gaze. “I’ve only had one husband.”

”Aye, and one brother, too.” He smirks. “Was I better than the fat king?”

”You insult my late husband, the father of my dead children?” Cersei surprises herself with how playful her voice has become.

Euron comes over to stand behind her, his hand hovering at her waist. He whispers in her ear. “Are you offended?”

“Robert had a different whore every night, but he still didn't know his way around a woman's body. But you . . .” Cersei finishes her wine and sets it aside with a secretive smile.  
  
“And the Kingslayer? Does he understand you?”

Her smile turns to a frown, her building excitement subsides. “You enjoy risking your neck, don't you?”  
  
He chuckles and sets his other hand on her hp. “Life is boring.” Euron spins Cersei around and startles her with a heavy, fearsome kiss. It is rough and anger and carnal, but she leans into it all the same, for all the sensuality he gives her.  
  
She pulls away. “You're not boring, I'll give you that.”

“So did I please my queen?”

 _My queen_. She loves to hear it from her lover’s lips. A lover who gave her pleasure first, before taking his own . . . but still, there’s something about this man that she despises and she will never let another man get close again. “You might be the most arrogant man I've ever met.” She accidentally glances down at his again-erect member. “I like that.”

“I’m glad my best features meet your approval.” Euron pulls at her dressing gown, yanking it off her shoulders with the coarseness she expects of a sailor. “Now I'm going to put a prince in your belly.”

He kisses her again, rough and hardy and greedy, but Cersei is the one to pull Euron back towards her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments, then come find me on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Dany/Sansa/Jon, Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, ASOIAF, and GOT.
> 
> New Changes and Comments:  
> \- this is fanfic so we're getting elephants, damnit  
> \- building up some changes in the Cersei/Euron relationship. Make of them what you will; this will affect another related romances  
> \- I don't necessarily think that book!Cersei would do this but I think this is more in line with how the show painted their Cersei. She's conniving and greedy, and she doesn't need Jaime in the same way book Cersei does.  
> \- Plus, I think this version of their scenes - Cersei liking the sex, enjoying weird pirate Euron, enjoying the power and control - it gives it more than just a reason to mask her child. It shows us where Cersei is emotionally - she's lonely but still high on the power - and shows how she's developing even in the endgame  
> \- evaluating the future battle from Cersei's perspective - dragonfire is something to beware of with elephants in the field that could trample her men  
> \- Strickland has actual lines lol


	8. Winterfell - Theon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon rescues Yara. Together, they make a plan.

Theon holds up his hand and waits.

As Euron’s guard paces the length of of the ship, Theon counts each rhthymitc step.

Waiting . . . 

Waiting . . .

_Waiting . . ._

As the man turns his back to Theon, he drops his hand, the signal for the Ironborn archers to loose their arrows. Besides him, a bow string creaks as an archer nocks another arrow and lets it fly. With a loud _thunk_ , it pierces a guard’s head and his body falls to join the corpses of his comrades on the deck.

Theon spins a chain in his hands and tosses it. With a pull, the iron spikes on the end tighten against the side of the ship. He rappels up the hull and marches across the deck with newfound confidence. a dozen other sailors follow behind him.

More enemies clamber form belowdecks, altered by the noise. Theon dodges a blow and sticks a sword in a man’s torso. His men take defensive positions and together they clear the way in a spray of blood and death.

Theon strides down a long hall to the captain’s chambers, where an ironborn spy told him to find his queen. A guard stands before the door, but its no matter. With a battle cry, he draws his ax and plunges it through the man’s head before he can even draw his own sword.

Theon goes to yank his ax from the man’s skull, using his foot as a lever to wedge it out. The force of his tug propels the body forward and it falls through the door. 

Yara looks up with a startled look on her face, the closest to terrified Theon’s ever seen his older sister. She is tied to a post in the center of the cabin. Bruises mottle the side of her face and the flesh of her neck, and the fabric of her sleeve is ripped, but she is _alive_. 

“You came!” 

Theon swells with pride to know he’s proven his sister’s worst expectations of him wrong. He knows he has much to make up to her, but with time and effort he can prove to be a worthy brother and a worthy ironborn.

He rushes to her side and, with a well-placed blow of his ax, breaks the bonds holding her captive. He offers her an arm and helps her to her feet. 

Theon holds out the ax and smiles broadly. “It’s not a weapon fit for a queen, but this’ll have to do for now.”

Yara chuckles, life flickering back into her eyes. She accepts the weapon silently with her left hand, and swings at him with her right fist. The unexpected blow sends Theon stumbling to the deck. “ _That_ was for leaving me on the ship.” She holds out a hand. “And _this_ is for coming back.”

Theon grabs her hand and stands up straight. “We have a ship waiting. Your grace.”

“Then let’s get on it!”

Together, they join the crew on the maindeck. Yara glances around, a smirk on her lips. “Do any of you idiots have flint?”

“Aye, my queen.” A young sailor produces his flint and stone. Once they have retreated to Theon’s ships, Yara demands pitch be brought forward. Dangerous as it is, she sets it to burning in a clay pot and turns to her brother. 

“Even as a boy, you were the best archer I knew. Are you still?”

Theon nods, and understands her meaning. He takes a bow from another ironborn, lights an arrow, and shoots it at Euron’s ship. With a resounding cry, the three other ships he brought on this mission follow suit. Eight ships begin to spark flame, and a bell from King’s Landing’s walls begins to ring.

He turns to his sailors. “Get moving now, get me that horizon!” Theon calls out orders and moves towards the helm of his ship as the Ironborn go to their captain’s command and scamper to raise the sails and position them to catch the wind.

“I’m proud of you, brother.” Yara follows behind him. Despite her torment at their uncle’s hands, there’s a smile on her face. “I never thought you would bloom into a true Ironborn, but here you are, all the greenlander gone from you.”

Theon thinks of Sansa and the Starks of Winterfell. “Not all of it.”

The sails snap down from above and the ship begins to move in the force of a heavy gail. Yara offers him her arm. “What’s our bearing, captain? Euron can't defend the Iron Islands, not if he's in King's Landing with all his men and his ships. We can take our home back.”

“Daenerys went north.” Theon sets a hand on the wheel. She may be his queen, but now he is the captain. He raises his chin. “And we promised her our support in defeating Cersei. If Cersei is defeated, Euron can't take the Iron Islands back. He'll be dead too.”

“Daenerys will need somewhere to retreat if they can't hold the North. Somewhere the dead can't go.” Yara looks towards the rising sun in the East. He watches her face, calculating and considering their options. “Who holds Dragonstone?”

Theon pauses. “Dragonstone? A company of the Unsullied. With a few more Ironborn ships that didn’t go with Daenerys to White Harbor.” That wasn’t what he expected her to suggest. He had thought . . .

"You want to go to Winterfell.” Yara catches his meaning as his eyes drift North. “To fight for the Starks.”

“You're my queen. I go where you command.”

“Take me to Dragonstone. I’ll hold the island for Daenerys until the Northern war is won.” Yara smiles sadly. “Until then, I am appointing you my emissary to the North. Advise them wisely but stay true to who you are.”

She offers him her forearm. “What is dead may never die.” 

He takes it and repeats, “What is dead may never die.”

Yara pulls him in for a heavy embrace. She whispers in his ear and he can hear her smirk, “But kill the bastards anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments, then come find me on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Dany/Sansa/Jon, Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, ASOIAF, and GOT.
> 
>  **Comments and Changes:**  
>  \- I removed the Yara and Euron scene because it adds nothing except gratuitous torture of a woman and veiled sexual assault  
> \- It made no sense for Yara to go all the way around the continent to the Iron Islands when Dragonstone was right! there!  
> \- I have another lose thread prepared to tie shut with Yara later and I'm really excited for it tbh


	9. Winterfell - Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister looks for allies in the fight against the White Walkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire scene is not present and I figured it needed to be because it didn't make sense.

A lone horse approaches the walls of Riverrun as night descends. Icy rivers rush around the castle's snow-studded walls and towers, meeting at its tip and forming the next one. The flags drooping from the castle’s towers are red-and-blue, emblazoned with the fish of House Tully. A few direwolves of House Stark still hang as well, riddled with holes and other signs of the wars they have lived through.

The man on the horse’s back is dressed in plain leather and missing a hand. He stops at the bridge to enter the castle and glances down at the ice-covered river below. Jaime Lannister descends his mount then withdraws the torn remnants of a white cloak from his saddle bags, stained grey in the corners, and waves it over his head with his good arm.

Slowly, the drawbridge lowers. It hits the ground with a _thud_. A row of young green boys pointing spears and bows approaches Jaime. At their front stands Lord Edmure Tully. “Well met, Kingslayer. It seems this time you’re my prisoner, instead of the other way around. Unfortunately I can’t dig up Joffrey and threaten to catapult him at you.”

“I’ve come to treat with you.” Jaime says. “I’m heading North to fight for man. To join the Dragon Queen.”

“You and what army?” Edmure dramatically peers behind Jaime. “The Riverlands has been caught in its own wars its true, but after my niece freed me we started getting news again. I had a letter from Daenerys, asking for my fealty. I had another from Sansa, asking for my support for Ned Stark’s bastard as King in the North. And another raven came from that King, saying Cersei and Daenerys came to a truce, and you would be marching through my lands with an army of Lannisters. And yet you come alone.”

“My sister deceived her enemy.” Jaime says. “Does that surprise you so much?”

“It surprises me more that the dishonorable Kingslayer is following through on those vows and promises.” Edmure holds up a hand and his boy soldiers lower their spears and bows. “You can rest here for the night, eat my bread and salt. I am not Lord Walder. You will survive the meal.”

When they enter the courtyard of Riverrun, it is clamoring with scared, trodden smallfolk, mostly women and children. Jaime looks around. “Who are all these people?”

“Mostly orphans and homeless widows from our wars.” Edmure looks tired. “I could not let them face the plagues and cold of winter alone. Not with death supposedly marching south.”

“So you’ve heard?”

“I have.” Edmure sighs and takes a loaf of bread from a young page, offering it to Jaime. “I’m not sure if I believe it, but I believe Cat’s daughter.”

“Have you sent men North, then, to fight?” Jaime doesn’t understand why Edmure is answering his questions, but the man looks so tired he tries to understand what he can. He takes a bite of the bread and a swallow from an offered mug of bitter beer. When Edmure shakes his head, Jaime speaks again. “Send your men North with me.”

“What men?” Edmure waves a hand at the people in the courtyard, a bitter laugh on his lips. “Would you prefer the green boys or the grey beards, to fight against death itself? Nay, I have no men to send with you. You killed them all for your son’s wars.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaime says. It’s the first time he’s said those words since he doesn’t know when. It’s the first time he’s felt apologetic since before even then. And how can he not, faced with the people who lost everything because of him, Cersei, and his father? “When these wars are done, I’ll make it right to you. I don’t know what I can offer, but I will.”

“I’d thank you, kingslayer.” Edmure’s smile is mirthless. “But all the gold in Casterly Rock can not bring back my uncle or my sister or her son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments, then come find me on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Dany/Sansa/Jon, Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, ASOIAF, and GOT.
> 
>  **Comments and Changes:**  
>  \- Jaime threw away his hand, idk how he got it back in S8.
> 
> \- where were the riverlands? how did Jaime cross them so quickly without running into ANYONE who wanted to help? why did Edmure not appear until the last episode when Queen Dany’s forces needed to cross HIS LANDS to get to HIS ENEMY’S CASTLE? The same ENEMY responsible for killing his sister and king? That he probably would have JOINED? Well, now you have an answer.
> 
> \- idk what castle Edmure is at in canon, he may have been captured at the Twins or Casterly Rock. IDK but he’s at Riverrun now. I don’t make the rules.


	10. Winterfell - Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion welcomes new refugees to Winterfell and ponders a proposal.

Tyrion stands at Varys and Missandei’s side as emissaries of the queen as the final noble family of the North arrives through the front gate of Winterfell. The many-pointed orange star of Karstark flaps in the wind. He leans to Davos, there as Sansa and Jon’s representative, and whispers, “One of the better sigils. Beats an onion, anyway.”

“Can’t argue with that.” The other man huffs, although he does smile.

“Welcome back, Lady Karstark.” Maester Wolkan says, bowing to the young woman and her host of men and wagons of smallfolk. Several Dothraki dismount around them, part of the guard sent by Daenerys to protect them on the road. “If you would follow me, we can discuss the arrangements for your people.”

The peasants stare at the Dothraki and gathered Unsullied warily, silent and still. 

Missandei steps forward and speaks in perfect Westerosi. “Hello, Lady Karstark.” She motions, and several Unsullied step forward with heavy baskets of blankets and dragonglass weapons created in the forges at Dragonstone. “A token from Queen Daenerys, to help your people settle in in the castle.”

“Thank you.” Lady Karstark says, before turning to follow Maester Wolkan into the castle. 

A little girl looks up at her mother. The woman hesitates before stepping forward and accepting a blanket. Missandei smiles, takes a bread roll from a basket, and bends down to offer it to the little girl. “Hello. What’s your name?”

The girl hides behind her mother’s skirts, clutching a doll in her hand. The mother looks down, then at Tyrion and Varys. “Thank you. She’s shy, and scared of strangers ever since her brothers died. This has been taxing.” She nudges her daughter forward. “Tell her your name. She’s a friend.”

“I’m Teela.” The little girl says, accepting the roll from Missandei. “Why is your skin that color?”

“I’m from the south, from Naath, the island of butterflies.” Missandei smiles again. “Our skin is darker because its much warmer there.”

Teela smiles uncertainly, and nibbles at her bread. Missandei stands and announces to all the Karstark people. “If you come with me, I’ll take you to the mess, where you can get warm soup and more instructions.”

Tesla grabs a friend’s hands and follows after Missandei. “What’s a butterfly?”

Tyrion smiles shrewdly. “Well, that went better than expected. After the treatment we got on arrival, I thought it would end poorly to have them take commands from a foreigner.”

Davos Seaworth snorts. “Aye, one conversation and we’re all the best of friends. It’s funny what the end of the world will do to you.”

"The North has always been a strange place." Varys shivers a little, the look on his face distant uncertain. "But many others also seem scared of our queen."

“Tyrell and Martell were ready to fight to the last, but Daenerys brought them together.” Tyrion notes, and begins walking towards the battlements. “It’s not just the end of the world that makes allies of enemies.”

“Not so long ago, the Starks and the Karstarks were slaughtering each other on the battlefield. Jon Snow brought peace to the houses.” Davos says in response and follows him up the stairs.

“And our queen is grateful.” Tyrion responds. At the top of the ramparts, he glances across the field of tents and wagons of Dany’s army. He glances to the horizon like he has a dozen times a day, hoping to spy a Lannister flag flapping in the cold white winds, but there is nothing. 

“Her gratitude is lovely, but that’s not my point. The Northmen are loyal to Jon Snow, not to her.” Davos says, crossing his hand behind his back. Varys gives Tyrion a pointed look.

“Are you saying they will not follow their queen, even though their lord bent the knee?” Varys asks with a sniff. “I’ve heard so much better of Northern honor.”

Davos sighs. “The Northerners don’t know Queen Daenerys. I’ve been up here a while, and I’m telling you, they’re stubborn as goats. You want their loyalty, you have to earn it. The Free Folk don’t follow someone because of their name, and they won’t kneel to her because Jon did.”

Tyrion stops his walk along the ramparts and turns to Davos. “Is coming North to fight this Great War somehow not enough, even though it was against the advise of her council?”

“It’s enough for me . . . but from what I’ve heard it’s not enough for some of them.”

”I sense that you’re leading somewhere with these concerns?” Tyrion says, not understanding what this opening of grievances is for if not to share an idea.  
  
“These two are close. Jon is of sound mind and wise in strategy.” Davos motions across the wall, to where the once-king and current-queen walk together through the preparation of dugouts outside the walls. “On the off chance that we survive the Night King, what if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a council that people could trust entirely?”

“Will a Northern bastard on the small council be enough for the North to accept her as queen, fully and forever?” Varys asks. “And her children after?”

"It might be a start, at least." Davos remarks. 

"What could be enough, if not even that?" Varys fiddles his fingers. "I never cared to send many birds North, since Ned Stark stayed away from the politics of the south. It's left me misunderstanding of them. I believe they may be to stubborn to accept any rulership from the South."

"Who knows, perhaps she may marry a Northern lord."

Tyrion presses his lips together, remembering Jon’s entry into the queen’s cabin on their ship to White Harbor. “They make a handsome couple. Perhaps more could come of their closeness.”

“Will Jon and Queen Daenerys even want to listen to lonely old men setting up a marriage between them?” Varys says. Tyrion thinks the idea makes sense and doesn’t see why Varys isn’t in support of even approaching it.

Tyrion considers the implied proposal and the good it could do for the people of Westeros. For the support and strength of the North. On the field in front of Winterfell, Jon and Daenerys walk together, inspecting the preparations for battle. Jon has made some joke it seems, because the queen is laughing with a bright smile on her face. “Our queen respects the wisdom of age.”

”Respect is how the young keep us at a distance, so we don’t remind them of an unpleasant truth.” Varys responds, frowning at the couple below.  
  
“What's that?”  
  
"Nothing lasts, love most of all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments, then come find me on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Dany/Sansa/Jon, Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, ASOIAF, and GOT.
> 
>  **Comments and Changes:**  
>  \- Dany (through Missandei) giving her new people a reason to trust her!
> 
> \- The xenophobia plot line was dumb and had no reason or resolution, so here it is!
> 
> \- I took out the marriage convo for Reasons, but Jonerys is still endgame.


End file.
